


Blink

by veritashopian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Discussion of Death, Gen, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritashopian/pseuds/veritashopian
Summary: “Don’t say her name in front of me,” Tim all but growls. “Just tell me what you’re on about and how you suddenly got so buddy-buddy with the fear god that it decided to do you a favor and fix your memory.”Jon averts his eyes, shame written in every feature. “I asked it.”
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Blink

It shouldn’t be hot outside. The sun went down ages ago and his ass is going numb on the stone steps of the institute, but Tim can’t shake the heat simmering in his veins. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they’re going into the museum and bringing down the circus. Tomorrow, he settles the score. For Danny, always for Danny, but for Sasha, too. Her and everyone else who’s been gobbled up by this  _ Stranger  _ thing. He just hopes that if he dies, he gets a few good swings in first. 

The front door opens behind him and closes almost without a sound, the trademark of someone who knows they aren’t welcome and is trying to shoe-horn their way in anyway. Speaking of swinging punches. Tim sighs and pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, holding it out without looking. 

A pause, and then a click as Jon’s tacky lighter flares to life. Tim waits until he can feel the flame licking his fingertips before bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. He doesn’t turn, and he doesn’t speak. 

Slowly, Jon lowers himself to the steps beside Tim. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s the kind of silence that begs to be broken. Well, tough. He can do it himself if it’s so important. 

“Tim…” Jon trails off before he can even really begin, and Tim tries, he  _ really  _ tries not to be frustrated. Things weren’t always this tense between them, and he does his best to dredge up how it used to be, when he could poke fun at his new ‘boss’ without feeling sick to his stomach. 

The best he can manage is a tired resignation, and he lets the cigarette fall to the ground to burn itself out. “What do you want, Jon?” 

Jon takes several shaky breaths before trying to speak again. “I… I wanted to give you something. Before tomorrow, that is, just in case things… yeah. But it’s probably not going to be pleasant, so I wanted to let you decide whether or not you want it.”

That’s just insane enough for Tim to finally look at him, and by god does Jon look rough. It looks like he’s sleeping even less than the rest of them combined, and he’s all over jitters, picking at his nail beds as his eyes dart around everywhere. “Full offense boss, but if you’re picking  _ now  _ of all times to decide that you want to kiss at least one bloke who’s a solid nine before you die I’m gonna have to give that a  _ hard _ pass. Go ask Martin.”

It’s a testament to how serious this must be that Jon doesn’t even splutter or protest like he would have any other time. The only reaction he gets is a quick coloring of Jon’s cheeks and an intense, wide stare. “You asked who you were sad for,” Jon says quickly, like the words will expire if he doesn’t use them soon enough. “Do you want to know what she looked like?”

“You said you didn’t know any of that!” Tim recoils with a snarl. What is Jon playing at?

The smaller man looks pained, fiddling with the ends of his scraggly hair. “ _ I _ don’t,” he admits softly. “But this thing, this  _ Eye _ that we’re bound to… it sees things. That’s what it does. It doesn’t like it when knowledge is erased, distorted like- like Sa-“

Tim holds up a hand and Jon’s jaw makes a clicking sound, he shuts it so fast. “Don’t say her name in front of me,” Tim all but growls. “Just tell me what you’re on about and how you suddenly got so buddy-buddy with the fear god that it decided to do you a favor and fix your memory.”

Jon averts his eyes, shame written in every feature. “I asked it.”

“You asked it,” Tim repeats dryly. He stands, dusting off his trousers. “Oh, that easy was it? Wish I’d known, I would have done something sooner.”

“Tim, I-“

“So how about it then?” Tim shouts toward the sky. “Got any favors for me, big guy? It’s me, Tim Stoker, the guy whose life you fucked! Can I at least get some dreamless sleep or a bionic eye or something?”

“Tim!” Jon shushes him. His eyes are all over the place, scanning the empty street with terror. “I would wager a guess that provoking it can’t do any good!”

“Oh, I’m  _ so  _ sorry, I didn’t realize you were the only one who could ask for things! Makes sense though, since you’re the one going around making all the bloody statement magic and giving people nightmares for it to eat! Bit of an eldritch horror’s pet, aren’t we?” Tim snaps. 

“I’m afraid so, now will you  _ stop  _ before Elias sees _?”  _ Jon glares and pulls Tim back down by the arm, and Tim lets him. Why bother resisting? It’s not like he’s actually going to leave. Jon can go on about choices all he wants but Tim has already made his. 

He can barely remember what his brother looks like, some days. If he’s going into this battle, he might as well have a loved one’s face in mind. It worked for that person who went on holiday, anyway. So Tim sighs and closes his eyes. “Alright, let’s get it over with. Are you going to paint me a word picture or should we go 20Q? I’ve got a pretty good imagination, so I’m sure I can come up with something close.”

Jon is quiet for long enough that Tim cracks an eye open, and is unsurprised to find Jon looking distressed all over again. “I.. don’t think it can work that way. I tried, you know, even when I found the tapes. But… the unpleasant bit is that I think I might be able to do it. Put it in your head, like Elias did to the others. Because I-“

“Asked your monster power sugar daddy, yeah. Alright, do it.”

“It might be painful,” Jon prattles on. “I don’t  _ want  _ it to, but I haven’t tried this before and Martin said-“

“Jon,” Tim says as evenly as he can. “Do I look like I care if it’s going to hurt?”

It’s clearly a rhetorical question, but Jon takes a good long look at him anyway before nodding slowly. “Alright.” He scoots so he’s more directly facing Tim and stretches out his good hand to press his fingertips to Tim’s temple. His eyes slide closed and Tim’s do the same. 

At first, there’s nothing behind his eyelids but darkness and his own pulse. Then there’s a rush of pressure, borderline painful, and he sees a face he doesn’t recall ever seeing in his life. She’s sitting at Sasha's desk, drinking from Sasha’s mug, wearing Sasha’s cardigan, but he doesn’t recognize her at all. He drinks in every detail though, trying to burn it into his memory. But the pressure keeps building, pound for pound, until he’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He tries to hold on, to keep this person he loved so much in his head for just another second, but he has to pull away, eyes flying open. 

Jon has the audacity to look hopeful. “Did it…?”

When he tries to think of Sasha now, all he can see is the one he knows to be an imposter. 

They sit in silence until Jon lowers his hand back to his lap. “It didn’t stick, did it?” he asks softly. 

Tim doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Tears are already streaming down his cheeks. “Go away,” he tells Jon. 

And, for once in his life, Jon does what Tim tells him without a fight. He picks himself up and walks back into the institute without another word. Apparently the eyeball god decided it didn’t need its new favorite freak to watch Tim mourn all over again, and if that’s as close to a favor as Tim can get from it, he’ll take it. 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea hurt me so I wrote it down, cheers


End file.
